Haven Magic (54 page)

Tomkin licked his lips. In truth, he had not laid eyes upon a member of the opposite sex since Dando’s party in the marshes long ago. He felt temptation tugging at him—but still, he was wary.

“Where is it?” he repeated.

Piskin sighed with a burst of exhalation. It was a sound of bemused exasperation. “Persistence is a virtue!” he said. “But in your case, you might be taking things too far! Allow me to give you a word of advice: don’t inspect every gift given too closely—or you might find people stop giving them to you.”

Tomkin blinked, then tilted his head. “Where…is…this…gathering?”

“Very well, if you must know, it is atop mount banning in the Red Rock range. We’ll be there in a trice, if you would only follow along like a good fellow.”

Piskin arranged his hat on his head, twirled his walking stick twice and hopped off into the night. Tomkin did not move. He stood staring downslope at the other’s retreating back.

Finally, as Piskin reached the edge of the marshland, the border where the territory of Rabing Castle’s walls once stood, he halted and looked back in surprise. “Hullo? What’s the hold up?”

“I’m not going,” said Tomkin.

“WHAT?” Piskin cried, and came hopping back up the slope. His hops were small, rapid and irritable. “How can this be? How can a bumpkin refuse the hand of a dozen maidens who might otherwise be unwilling to grace his lumpish face with their spittle? This is your hour, man! This is your moment. You simply have to make the most of it.”

“No,” said Tomkin.

“Why?” hissed Piskin in utter vexation.

“Because I will stand here with the River Folk. I trust them more than I trust the likes of thee.”

“Fool!” said Piskin through clenched teeth. He hopped in spun in angry circles around Tomkin, who watched him closely all the while. “You will do no heroics. You will die here, as did Dando. You are even less attuned to the Jewel. You will be forced to use it, and you will die, and they will take it from us. Can you not see, brother?”

“Do not come near me again,” Tomkin said.

“Why ever not?”

“Because I will remove thy head and thy limbs,” said Tomkin in utter sincerity. “I will toast them over a peat fire and chew the meat from thy bones.”

“Barbarian!” huffed Piskin, but he retreated a yard or more.

Tomkin turned away and headed toward the River Folk and their fire. He glanced over his shoulder several times as he went, but he saw no more of Piskin.

* * *

“Brand! Wake up, Brand! Look, it’s wonderful!” said Telyn. Her hands shook him. Brand groaned aloud and opened one bleary eye. Instead of bright sunlight, he found himself bathed in a cool green gloom. He sat up blinking in astonishment.

Vines as thick as tree trunks plunged up from the ground, growing before his eyes. Trees and bushes rippled and thrust upward, reaching for the morning sun. Stone blocks heaved and were shouldered aside by living green spears. A tangle of tea roses battled a sapling tree, each climbing the other like bundles of twisting snakes. Even the grass rustled and groaned. At the edge of the wall, dancing with his staff upraised, Myrrdin coaxed each of the drooping shoots they had planted the night before into explosive growth.

The walls now completely surrounded them, but still Myrrdin worked. Sweat sprouted from his brow despite the chill morning air. He ran back to the center of the gatehouse and stood upon the cracked fountain. Spring water bubbled up into the bowl of the fountain and trickled away through the mossy cracks. He held his staff overhead with both hands. At his feet the moss rippled and grew up over his boots. Tiny purple flowers sprouted around the buckles and laces.

The walls continued to grow. Brand watched in amazement as the stone ruins of the gatehouse were overcome by towering walls of dense vegetation. As the plants surged ever taller they turned inward, bowing to form a dome. Rustling leaves knitted themselves together. Vines grew crosswise now, binding together the curving tree trunks like the poles of a river raft. As the vines thickened, they sprouted sharp thorns as long as daggers.

“And so we lose sight of the sun again,” said Gudrin.

Brand looked at the others. Modi gaped upward and frowned. Telyn clapped her hands and laughed. Corbin sought for fruit amongst the brush near the entrance. Already he had an armload of what looked like peaches.

“Peaches in winter!” cried Brand. Corbin walked up to him with a grin and tossed him one. Brand caught it and bit into it. It was delicious. Both of them grinned at one another and the miracle that grew around them.

“So what if they can fly?” cried Corbin, gesturing at the dome overhead that now closed itself completely. They were enclosed in a cool green gloom. The plants continued to rustle and twist.

“So what?” echoed Brand. He laughed aloud and ate the rest of his peach. Corbin handed him a second.

“It’s good to have you back again,” Corbin said.

Brand looked at him. He nodded and sighed. “You too,” he said.

Corbin nodded and ate yet another peach. He moved around to the others, handing out fruit. It was good to have clean, fresh food in this place. Everyone’s spirits ran high.

Finally, when it seemed that the wall of greenery would swallow them whole, Myrrdin stopped his magic. He lowered his staff and stepped back. He turned to them, disheveled and bathed in sweat from his labors. His grin was wide and his eyes alight. “I’ve done it!” he cried. “I’ve not conjured such a thing since the dead kingdoms lived!”

“It’s beautiful!” gasped Telyn. She rushed up to the leafy walls and ran her hands over the woven vines and thorns. She plucked a flower from a bed of ferns and held it out to Brand. He took it, smiling. Just to look at her radiant face seemed to lift more of his burden from his shoulders.

Myrrdin was eyeing them while he brewed a pot of tea over the breakfast fire. “It seems clear that you have two seconds, Brand,” he said. “Such a thing isn’t unprecedented.”

“Will it last, Myrrdin?” asked Telyn. “Is it truly alive? Will it fade soon?”

“It is a living wall,” said Myrrdin. “The best that I could make it. The wall will live, yes. A very long time I should think. Especially if it is cared for and provided sufficient water.”

“Brand!” said Telyn, whirling on him. “If we survive this, we should make this all part of the Haven! People should live here again and see this wonder!”

“Ha! Next, you’ll be planning to raise these old walls again!” said Gudrin.

“And why not?” asked Telyn. “The old pact is finished, anything is possible. Who knows what new provisions the next pact will hold?”

Telyn turned a sly glance to Brand then, and gave him a sidelong smile. Brand stiffened, suddenly wondering if she had overheard some of last night’s talk with the Wee Folk.

“Um,” said Brand. He cleared his throat. “I have some news in that area.”

Everyone turned to him.

“I spoke with Tomkin and another of his kind, Piskin. We came to an agreement of sorts.”

“What!” shouted Gudrin. “You’ve been negotiating with the enemy without our knowledge? First, I hear that the walls of Castle Rabing are being raised again, and now this!”

“I – I didn’t plan it that way,” said Brand. He looked to Myrrdin from support, but he seemed more interested in his tea than the conversation. “They just came to me and wanted to talk.”

“I see,” said Modi coming forward for the first time. “Now that the Kindred have given over the axe to the River Folk, no one is concerned with their fate. Their opinions amount to nothing.”

“No, no,” said Brand, “it’s nothing like that. They just woke me up and we decided that it would be in both our interests if neither the axe nor Lavatis fell into Herla’s hands.”

The two Battleaxe Folk grumbled something to one another and crossed their arms.

“Continue,” said Gudrin.

“That was it, really. That’s all I committed to, mutual defense in this place.”

Nodding, the two Kindred stumped toward the entrance. The grille that covered the entrance was now all but buried in a mass of fern fronds and woven thickly with thorny vines. They stopped there and began a heated discussion of their own, in their own tongue.

Corbin and Telyn came close to Brand. Corbin put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “It seems that the Battleaxe Folk aren’t pleased. Perhaps events haven’t proceeded quite according to their plans.”

“But what did they want?” asked Brand. “They gave us the axe to defend the Haven and eventually to come and aid them at Snowdon, I suppose.”

“Perhaps you weren’t supposed to negotiate a new peace with the Wee Folk and set about refortifying Rabing Castle along the way,” replied Corbin.

“Yes,” said Telyn in his other ear, “and perhaps they realize that you left out much of last night’s conversation.”

Brand looked at her, startled. If she knew that, then perhaps they did as well, hence their distrust. “But I wasn’t trying to hold out information on them, I just wanted to make things seem innocent, which they were,” sputtered Brand.

Their conversation was interrupted by a squeak and a sudden thrashing about in the thorny wall Myrrdin had created. They broke apart and lifted their weapons, approaching the living wall with caution. There they found Tomkin, arguing with a thorn. It was determined to hold on to his deerskin tunic.

“Ah, another spy!” said Modi. Brand smiled, thinking of his own words last night. Modi reached up and released the struggling manling with his powerful hands. He was careful, but even so, Brand noted a trickle of blood running down into his sleeve. Brand’s respect for the wall rose a few notches, it seemed to work like a living guardian to prevent intruders.

Tomkin hopped down into the green gloom that enclosed them all and rearranged his torn clothing. “Never in all my days have I struggled with such a beastly growth,” he complained. He hopped close to Myrrdin. “Thy doing, I suppose, cheating witch?”

Myrrdin ignored him. He seemed to be busy now with his staff, whittling and trimming it. Brand blinked in surprise. The staff seemed to have grown, at least a foot. Several leaves sprouted from it now as well. He resolved to question Myrrdin about it later.

“What have you to report?” he asked Tomkin.

“Report?” sniffed Tomkin. “Humph. I bring thee tidings from the Wee Folk.”

“Very well,” growled Modi, “Speak! Can we expect an army of little bounders to help us?”

“Hardly!” snorted Tomkin. He laughed aloud. “Clearly, thy misunderstanding of my folk runs deep. No, our army consists of many scouts and envoys. Even now they approach every power in reach of here for help.”

“Ha!” shouted Modi. “Spies and foppish liars!”

“Tell us of what’s happening!” urged Brand. “Where is Herla? Did the wisp you sent out get through to Riverton?”

Tomkin grinned, showing his sharp white teeth. “Herla circles these very walls, just beyond thy senses. Every puff of white mist hides the shadows of a dozen Huntsmen. We’ve tried to lure them off, but we have not the craft to fool Osang, which rules any illusion or image we can conjure up. Six of the Wee Folk lie trampled in the mud around this place, having tried to fool him.”

“What of the Wee Folk that are loyal to him?” asked Corbin.

Tomkin looked disgusted. “He trusts none of them. He has leashed them like dogs. They bound about on long leads before his coursers, those that haven’t deserted him.”

“That’s good then!” said Corbin. Tomkin glared at him. “I only mean that they can’t spy on us if they are bound.”

Tomkin nodded, but kept a slitted eye on Corbin. “The wisp made it to North End and Riverton. The word from that way is that a flotilla of River Folk are even now poling their way through the swamp to our aid.”

The River Folk cheered at this. Modi looked sour.

“The wisp, however, was captured upon her return to the swamp. Old Hob caught her like a firefly in June while she slept on a leaf, exhausted from her trip.”

Brand drew his lips tight. “Poor thing,” said Telyn.

Tomkin grinned at Brand. “Already, thy reputation grows, Axeman. Thou art now the man who turned Old Hob’s lantern yellow, rather than its ancient green! Every kind of folk whispers of it and laughs, as Old Hob has few friends.”

“What news of Snowdon do you have, manling?” demanded Modi.

“Thy folk too, have benefited,” said Tomkin, clearly displeased, “but for those tidings, I shall require a boon.”

Modi roared with disgust, and Brand believed for a moment that Tomkin had forfeited his life. Sensing conflict, the axe twitched and lifted the flap of the knapsack of its own accord.

“Speak, manling!” boomed Modi. “Thy boon is thy continued life!”

Tomkin smiled and bounded away. In a thrice he crouched upon the broken fountain. “My boon only grows with threats!” he cried.

Enraged, Modi stumped after him. Tomkin loosed long ringing laughter as he bounded about the gatehouse, easily evading the warrior. Modi stooped to grab up a rock and hurled it. Tomkin dodged offhandedly.

Brand ran forward, feeling the axe’s excitement grow. He grabbed Modi’s arm as he went to hurl another chunk of masonry. “We must cooperate!” he shouted.

Modi moved to shake him off, but Brand held fast to his arm with both of his. Modi roared and threw him backward. Brand lost his feet and fell. Tomkin’s laughter rang in his ears.